The French House

by Helen Fripp

  ‘There are lines of communication open to me, yes.’

  She could trust her heart, after all. Her judgement in the cellar, when Alexei and she had walked throughout the night and she’d shown him the riddling tables, had been sound. Nicole put the necklace on and pirouetted at this delightful development.

  ‘Tell me and I’ll do anything you ask to see you so carefree,’ he laughed.

  ‘The Tsar is not going to want such a lavish gift to another woman to fall into the wrong hands. And of course as one of his most faithful servants, you can make sure it doesn’t… at a price.’

  ‘What price would that be?’

  ‘Louis is in Paris trying to get an audience with the Russian ambassador. Perhaps, with the help of this necklace, Louis will discover that the ambassador will miraculously allow as many shipments as we can get to Russia in the next six months while the trade ban is still in place. Veuve Clicquot will be the only French wine allowed into the country, six months ahead of all our competitors, including my old friend Jean-Rémy.’

  ‘I know the ambassador well, and he’s well-versed in cover-ups for the Tsar’s misdemeanours. I’m travelling to Paris tomorrow, then mustering for Russia. It’s perfect timing for me to deliver the message along the chain of command. Thérésa had an idea that the necklace would serve you somehow. That’s the easy part, my beautiful vintner. But how do I bear leaving you and your magic empire of charm and commerce?’

  ‘Then don’t. Stay, get yourself another tour of duty in France.’ She could lose herself in his black eyes, which were warm as coals.

  ‘If I was selfish, I would stay. But too much has passed that I could ever make anyone else happy and I couldn’t do that to you, my beautiful, determined alchemist. I am married to grief and you to your wines. But in another life…’ He broke off to stoke the fire. ‘I should take the necklace and be on my way. I couldn’t leave without telling you I was on your side, and how achingly difficult it is to go.’

  ‘Not yet!’ said Nicole. ‘You know everything about me. Stay a while. Tell me something of you, so I can think of you when you’re gone.’

  He told her about Russia, the way the mist clung to the lake in the early mornings, about the French tutor who had helped raise him, taught him to draw, to observe colour and detail. He also taught him the language and all about French wines. He told her the name of his son. He was Nikolai and he had loved fishing and riding horses. He told Alexei he loved him as high as the tallest tree and wide as the lake, the one where you couldn’t see to the other side. Alexei promised that nothing bad would ever happen to him while he was with him.

  He stoked the fire again and turned to face her.

  ‘I was enchanted by you the moment you walked into that café in Paris. The way you moved through the tables with such quick steps, your delicate, elfin features and that fire in your eyes. When I saw you fighting my men outside your cellars, it was the first time I’d felt anything since Nikolai. I was furious at my men. And you looked so determined and frightened, I just wanted to scoop you up and hold you tight forever.’

  ‘You know that other life you talked about which has me in it and no one else?’

  He smiled. ‘Did you know that in Russia, we must pay a ransom for our brides?’

  ‘I think the gifting of the entire Russian champagne market is sufficient in this case.’

  ‘I thought you’d refuse to speak to me again.’

  ‘Impossible. But you’re leaving tomorrow. Will we ever meet again?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Can you live a life in a night?’ asked Nicole.

  He picked up a pink cushion.

  ‘After the ransom, a rose-coloured cloth is held over the newly-weds’ heads.’

  He led her into Thérésa’s new ballroom, the opulent confection of gilt and mirrors just an illusion, she knew. Alexei took two candles from the sconces, lit them and gave one to her.

  ‘Hold this in front of you.’

  He held the cushion over their heads and linked her arm.

  ‘Now, walk very slowly.’

  In the mirrors, they were reflected a hundred times, and as many different lives were possible.

  ‘Now we stand on the cloth. That means we’re married and, traditionally, this is where I would kiss you.’

  ‘We French are revolutionaries, but we don’t mind sticking to tradition on special occasions.’

  He held her close, paused to smile at the sheer luck of this moment, bitter eyes filled with desire, and kissed her. Outside, the sky turned indigo and the mirrors reflected it back, shrouding them in the whispering dark.

  ‘I have a country dasha,’ Nicole murmured as she pulled away. ‘A little place amongst the vines in Bouzy. It’s perfect for a honeymoon.’

  ‘Tomorrow I leave for the border.’

  ‘Then we have at least twelve hours and we can make each hour a year.’

  ‘You know I don’t sleep?’

  ‘Who sleeps on their wedding night?’

  ‘You are sure? I can only give you tonight.’

  ‘Very occasionally fate puts something your way that will make you happy, even if it’s wrong, and you know you just have to grab it and think about the rest later.’

  They walked to Bouzy across the fields, the secret ways where Nicole knew she was unlikely to encounter anyone. Glow-worms lit their way in the overgrown places, making their own constellations in the undergrowth.

  They talked, about their hopes and fears, their lives and loves and how it would have been for them if they had met in a different world. They dreamed of the impossible world they would create, filled with marvels and magic and love.

  At the house in Bouzy, he carried her across the threshold and up the stairs. In the dark, he made her feel like melted sugar. When she woke in the morning, he was there, looking at her.

  ‘I was watching you breathe.’

  The sun created a thread of crimson on the horizon, and they lay there without speaking, listened to the dawn chorus, watched the sun climb above the mist. A swarm of mayflies billowed up in front of the window, the light turning their transparent wings to flimsy lace. These creatures lived for years in the riverbank mud and they had one dazzling day in the sun, felt its heat, saw the green fields, the sway of wheat, the irises on the verges, the puffs of cow parsley, the thorny branches weighed down with May blossom and found their love in the swarm. Nicole understood one day was enough.

  Chapter 30

  Klikoskaya

  July 1814

  Ten thousand bottles of comet wine despatched to Russia! In her dreams, Nicole followed them, whispered to each of them in the night. They were safe with Louis. He had staked his whole life on this moment and she was ashamed he had to be hidden like a criminal on a Dutch ship, using his coat as a blanket, and sustaining himself on meagre rations, bought with Alexei’s money.

  News was intermittent and slow. She imagined shipwrecks, bottle explosions, robberies. Even with Russian protection, so much could still go wrong.

  For now, the trade routes were hers alone, no one in Reims was any the wiser and she seized the chance to take the market.

  When Xavier came heaving down the press yard waving a letter, she ran out to greet him. He thrust it in her hand.

  ‘From Louis. But forget that for now. The old bird’s laid out, they reckon she’s on her last legs.’

  ‘Who? You’re scaring me!’

  ‘Natasha. I’ll take you now in the barouche and I’m driving – just for once, don’t bloody well argue with me!’

  Natasha looked tiny in the big bed, her long grey hair thick on the pillow, eyes still bright, but her face different, lopsided. A line of salt circled the bed and hundreds of candles burned in the stifling room.

  Nicole hugged her. ‘Natasha, what happened?’

  ‘Don’t! The salt line mustn’t break!’

  She stroked Natasha’s cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t touch it.’

  ‘They’re here, but they
can’t cross the line,’ she muttered.

  ‘Who, chérie?’

  ‘The aristos who killed my Daniel. The Restoration, my arse. They’re after me now, but they can’t pass the salt line.’

  ‘Of course they can’t get you. No one ever could.’

  Natasha smiled with half her mouth and Nicole’s heart beat in fear. She gripped her hand.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m ready. Maman is here,’ Natasha murmured.

  ‘But I’m not ready. I know you, you can will yourself back. Let me blow out some of these candles, and open some windows. You can’t breathe in here.’

  ‘Don’t touch a thing. Everything is as it should be.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Just let me be. I’m happy. I saved every sou, baked a hundred thousand loaves to afford this many candles. And stop those tears. I want to hear everything before I go. Everything. Send me off with the good news you have in your pocket.’

  Louis’ letter. She’d forgotten all about it.

  ‘He’s reached Russia. But please, Natasha, not now…’

  ‘I knew he would… luck from the east. Keep going.’

  ‘The first bottles off the ship sold for twelve roubles each! He sold hundreds of crates right there and then on the harbour for fistfuls of money and fights broke out to be the first. He’s staying in a hotel at the port, he’s not going a step further. They’re desperate, queuing outside his hotel day and night and he’s making them grovel for my champagne.’

  ‘No more than you deserve. And General Marin?’

  ‘He was right in the middle of it all, directing the whole thing like a military campaign. Will I ever see him again?’

  ‘I only see Daniel. He’s waiting for me. Make sure they make me pretty for him when they lay me out.’ She turned away.

  ‘Don’t go, Natasha. Please stay.’

  ‘I go when I go. You will be happy, that much I know for sure, but first, two more things. See the box on my dressing table? Open it… Don’t break the salt! Take out the folded document.’

  Nicole scanned it. Natasha was bequeathing the bakery to Emile and Marie.

  ‘Marie’s too old to work in the fields and Emile loves this place. Marie fought for the revolution and she deserves it. Come back to me and sit next to me.’

  Nicole laid her cheek next to hers.

  ‘Be kind to Jean-Rémy, Babouchette,’ Natasha wheezed. ‘Forgive him. He just loved you too much, in his own arrogant way. This town is too small for feuds and he can’t fight you any more.’

  Nicole nodded to please her. Never, she thought.

  Natasha held her face. ‘You’re lying. Promise! Jean-Rémy has confided in me over the years. That will surprise you, I know. At some point in their lives, everyone in this town has hoped I could tell their future – rich, powerful, or poor. He loves you in his twisted way, and when he learns that you have truly beaten him, you must be kind. Be better than him.’ Natasha fumbled under her pillow. ‘One last thing.’

  ‘Don’t say last,’ Nicole whispered.

  ‘Hush, let me finish, it’s important.’ Natasha took her hand, dropped a velvet bag into her palm and closed her fingers around it. ‘Don’t open it until you know the time is right.’

  Nicole squeezed her hand. ‘I can promise that.’

  A candle guttered and fizzled out.

  ‘I’ll light it again for you.’

  ‘No! Leave it out, it’s meant to do that. You know by now not to argue and that I’m always right.’ Natasha managed a smile, but her breathing shallowed. ‘It’s time,’ she whispered.

  The light dimmed and Nicole held her tight.

  She left as she said she would, fell quiet and limp with her eyes wide open. As in life, she saw everything.

  Xavier found Nicole curled up next to her. It was dark outside. She’d lost track of time, but the silence was lit with spirits. He crossed himself.

  ‘I thought she would always be here. Come on, let me take you home.’

  Nicole waved him away. She stayed all night, relit the candles when they sputtered, tended the salt line, brushed Natasha’s hair, wrapped her in her red Russian shawl to make her beautiful for Daniel.

  ‘Give Daniel my love,’ she whispered.

  Was Natasha really inside the rigid dark coffin, so final? The priest looked away discreetly as Nicole held up the salt bag Natasha had left her for this moment. She made a figure of eight on the coffin and the salt skittered and bounced and blurred.

  Mademoiselle Var and Madame Olivier from the secret tasting committee leaned on each other and threw a cork to land on the salt.

  ‘Courage,’ they shouted, echoing the word they used for the first sip at their tasting sessions.

  Madame Olivier’s husband shot her a malevolent glance. She would no doubt pay later with a bruise.

  Louis’ Marta threw a chamomile sprig on top of the salt and cork, Natasha’s favourite, and mouthed a Russian prayer, adjusting the veil on her expensive new hat. Their fortunes were rising thanks to Veuve Clicquot et Compagnie. They exchanged watery smiles. Nicole silently thanked Natasha for this new entente cordiale. Even in death, she still fixed everything.

  Say hello to St Petersburg for me, she mouthed and closed her eyes to catch the tears. A hand on her shoulder startled her.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do…’

  She shook her head and recoiled.

  ‘She was a good friend,’ he pressed on. ‘Not just to you, but to all the lost and disaffected in this town. She made the ultimate sacrifice for the revolution. I’ll never forget the image of her in the square that day, cradling her dying husband.’

  Be better than him, reminded Natasha.

  ‘I thought she’d be able to defy death with all her spells and amulets,’ said Nicole.

  Jean-Rémy studied his shoes. ‘She asked me to tell you something.’

  ‘Oh?’ Natasha would never send messages through him.

  ‘I went to her for weather forecasts; she had incredible foresight in these things. It was me that sent Xavier for you when I saw she was so ill. She made me promise to do something for you in return for her protection from the afterworld.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Of course, I don’t believe in all that hocus-pocus, but the words of a dying woman cannot fail to have resonance. I have been arrogant…’

  ‘Yes, you have.’

  ‘I only wanted to protect you, but it seems I needed protecting from you. The war is over. This town needs all the success it can get and Reims is yours now as well as mine.’ He held out his hand. ‘Peace?’

  She glanced back at the grave. The mourners were starting to drift away, back to their lives.

  ‘Peace.’ She took his hand. ‘To the future and new friendships.’

  He smiled. ‘I can stop tending those Pinot vines you gave me now. Worst grapes I’ve ever tasted.’

  ‘Desperate measures… I’m sorry.’

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said, handing her a worn document.

  François’ death certificate, Natasha’s final act of magic. And nothing like success to win you friends in unexpected places, at least while things are going well.

  ‘Ah, my two favourite vintners, in perfect harmony, so nice to see you reconciled. Just as it should be. I wish Natasha were here to witness the happy moment. Come now, darling. Frowning like that will give you wrinkles.’

  ‘Thérésa! I never thought you’d come!’

  ‘You’re surprised, ma belle? Let’s blame Natasha. Don’t ask me if any of her spells ever worked, but here I am.’

  Jean-Rémy bowed and left. Thérésa was a glamorous raven in her black feather dress, cut lower than appropriate. A sickly man in a frilly shirt escorted her.

  ‘I almost forgot. Meet my new companion, Xavier de Bourbon.’

  ‘Bourbon? A word alone?’ said Nicole as she pulled Thérésa aside. ‘Is he related to the old king?’

  Thérésa scoffed. ‘I never thought anyone as fat and corrupt as old Louis XVIII would have a p
lace back in France, but there you are. Of course he’s connected. You don’t think I’d waste my time with such a fop if he wasn’t going to lead me straight to the new king.’

  ‘You know Natasha hated aristocrats. Perhaps it’s time to get back to Paris where you belong.’

  ‘Natasha would understand. I don’t need the money – thanks to my investment in your wonderful business – but life is so dull if one isn’t at the centre of power.’ Thérésa leant close, lips brushing her neck. ‘I’d stay if you asked me,’ she whispered.

  ‘You would tire of me and this little town,’ smiled Nicole.

  Thérésa caressed her cheek, crossed herself at the graveside, then swept away with grief-stricken poise, leaning heavily on her Bourbon.

  The priest led a procession back through the cemetery. Nicole blew a final kiss to Natasha and joined the line. Everyone but her had a loved one with them, but Mentine was waiting for her at home and Natasha wouldn’t want her to be sad. She lifted her chin and broke away, unhooked the latch on the cemetery gates and walked out towards the vineyards.

  By September, when every last drinkable bottle was safely in Russia and the workers had left for the night, Nicole polkaed through the empty cellars. Incandescent at their turn of fortunes, Louis’ letters were a delight: the abscess of the last twelve years has finally been lanced… I can’t tell you how sweet it is to bring you such good news, my heart is bursting with joy to bring you the balm to heal the wounds you so little deserved…

  The Champagne region became wildly fashionable with the return of the troops. Casks of Pippin apples and Rouselette pears piled up at the borders, and Emile and Marie supplied a thriving black market in Rémois nonette cakes until their tills overflowed.

  Nicole studied her ledger. All black now, her loyal workers paid the double wages she had promised. In the press yard, carts buckled under the weight of deliveries, smuggled out under the cover of night.

  The vine leaves were turning. It would be harvest time soon, and she was newly appointed to the tasting committee alongside Jean-Rémy and the others. The only woman ever to be accepted into the inner circle. In the barrels, new wine was fermenting just as it should and outside a ripe orange moon hung above the vineyards, a good augur for the crops and for Reims.